Heavenly Star Palace
Where boundaries dissolve between truth and dream, between spirit and matter—where time is measured not in units but in pulses of eternity.
The palace hung at the heart of the galaxy, adrift in an endless night, surrounded by nothing but the light of shattered stars and the songs of ancient time. A melody audible only to those who transcended the limits of perception, flowing like the whispers of forgotten gods.
Its walls were not made of stone, but of the radiance of eternity—interwoven threads of divine, glowing energy, their colors shifting with the universe's pulse: from the crimson red of a star's birth to the cold blue of its collapse. As if the palace walls were a living record of all that transpired beyond.
The sky above was no sky as we know it, but a living canvas:
A meteor falling… a planet being born… a comet swirling…
Stellar explosions and cosmic emissions passed behind a glass dome that did not exist—a pure sensation of awe and immortality. Even the silence there tasted sacred.
And at the palace's heart, between endless pillars rising toward a ceiling of pulsating light, sat Veldanava.
His mere presence imposed silence upon the wind. As if the sky itself bowed before him.
A youth of beauty beyond description. Skin the hue of dawn, and his eyes—or what lay hidden behind the black blindfold—were twin mirrors of creation and annihilation. His long hair cascaded like a waterfall of night and sea, violet at its ends, deep blue at its roots, as if stars had hidden within it.
His athletic frame was like a sculpture carved by cosmic will. Tight black sleeveless clothes clung to muscles forged from time itself, draped with a long haori of snow and purple, swaying in an unseen breeze like the scarf of an emperor fallen from the gods' memory.
Upon a throne not of gold or stone, but of coalesced void—the convergence of possible and impossible—he sat in stillness.
Before him floated transparent screens, not of glass but of the universe's memory. Each screen narrated a life, a world, a timeline straight or skewed… Among them, one image flickered insistently: a human boy.
"That boy again…"
His voice, when he spoke, was the echo of the first dawn's breeze at creation's birth.
Akira.
A mere speck in the scales of creation, yet his footsteps tore through fates yet unwritten. As if his destiny was not predetermined, but being penned now—by his own hand.
Timelines twisted and crossed… connecting to other souls… Velgrynd… Velzard…
His sisters… or what remained of them in time.
When Akira crossed into this era, Veldanava felt it instantly. That alone was no surprise—but what followed stirred caution within him.
Evolution.
An evolution unlike any other. He was becoming something that defied the logic of the cosmic order itself. The Apocalypse Dragon.
Veldanava, though creator of this universe, was no longer omniscient nor omnipotent. He had relinquished those traits by choice, as if challenging himself—or fearing he might become his creation's jailer.
Yet now… this insignificant being, Akira… stirred something ancient within him. A dread he had not felt since the first age of creation.
Worse still, it was not Akira's actions that unsettled him—but what he had done to others.
Velgrynd.
How had he synced with her soul?!
Soul synchronization was no trivial event. It was not mere emotional or spiritual connection… but an entanglement at the level of existential threads. A phenomenon only possible between entities with a shared origin or a destiny interwoven since creation's dawn.
And it had happened between them… without intent or will… during a single act of evolution.
Veldanava raised his hand, and a rotating symbol of light—the Sigil of Fate—materialized in the air: three interlocking rings representing past, present, and future.
But the ring of the future was broken.
Torn apart.
"Where do you stand in my world and time, O stranger?"
"Are you of this world's fabric? Or an intruder come to rewrite it anew?"
He listened to the whispers of the stars… the voice of galaxies… the echoes of his own laws.
But no answer came.
Even the laws of creation he himself had forged… could no longer read Akira.
Silence. Then a faint sigh:
"Akira… as if you were the anomaly created to test even your creator."
At that moment, a silver gateway opened behind him. A familiar shadow emerged—tall, bearing a spear of condensed light upon his shoulder.
Feldway.
The first angel Veldanava had crafted… and his most trusted servant.
He knelt silently and spoke softly:
"My lord… they are moving."
Veldanava did not turn. He neither shouted nor showed surprise.
"I know."
His voice was unshaken.
"But we… will not intervene."
A pause. Then he added:
"Not yet."
...
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